The Uncanny Accuracy of Fate

Chapter 25

There are 18 chairs in this waiting room. The clock on the wall lags for about 2 seconds at the 11. Cami's been with Dr. Reynolds for 42 minutes, and I'm starting to count the tiles on the ceiling in order to get my mind off of how worried I am. I'm at 39 when there's a flash of red hair in the doorway and I see the woman who took Cami back, now 44 minutes ago, gesturing for me to join her.

"Phillipa, I presume?" I shake her hand.

"Pippa's fine."

"Okay, Pippa. So if it's all right with you, I'd like to talk to you and Cami together for our remaining time." I agree, and follow her down a long hallway to where a door reveals Cami sitting on a grey couch, anxiously picking at her fingers.

"Sit anywhere you like," the doctor says, sweeping her arm vaguely at the furniture in the corner. After a second, I sit on the couch next to Cami, trying to contain my smile when she grabs my hand. Dr. Reynolds glances at our joined hands, then sits in a straight backed chair, grabbing a notepad off the table beside her.

"So I want to preface everything I'm about to say with a quick disclaimer that I've only talked to Cami for about 45 minutes. If you guys decide this is something you want to continue, then I'd like to talk to you too, Pippa, and maybe have some sessions with both of you. Sound good?"

After a moment, I realize Cami isn't going to say anything, and I nod.

"Great. So based on my initial evaluation, and the paperwork you filled out, I'd say you're dealing with pretty severe anxiety and some PTSD, and the combination of the two of those is leading to some depression." These words settle over us like an ominous cloud, and I feel Cami's grip on my hand tighten as I nod again for the both of us.

"Now I want to make it clear that these diagnoses are likely going to change, but I'd like to get you started on some medication, and you need to have a diagnosis in order for me to do that."

With more nodding, hand shaking, and appointment scheduling, we're out the door, two prescriptions in hand.

"You wanna go pick these up now?"

"Sure, whenever." Cami's acting sullen, but I have a sneaking suspicion her short answers are an attempt to hold herself together while we're in public.

She keeps it together while we go to Rite-Aid to get her meds, and even shares a bag of chocolate covered pretzels with me on the subway ride home.

Back in the kitchen, I decide it's time. "So what did you think of Dr. Reynolds? Think her first name is Maria?"

I get no response, understandably. It was a bit of a weak attempt. I'm filling up the tea kettle when Cami pipes up from her perch on the counter.

"I'm not upset. Is that...is that okay?" I laugh a little, going over to cup Cami's face in my hands.

"Oh my god, yes. That is so okay. Sorry, I know I've been walking on eggshells, it's just..." I trail off, not wanting to voice it, but Cami seems to understand.

"Yeah, I get it. Being upset is kind of my MO. But-it's like, for the past couple of years I've had all this stuff going on in my head, and it makes it really difficult to do, you know, anything. And I always wondered why I was so bad at, like, existing, because no one else around me seemed to have as much trouble as me with little, everyday things. But now, now that I know there's a reason for the, the gunk in my brain, maybe now it'll be okay." She looks concerned, and I realize there are tears rolling down my cheeks.

"No no no, these are happy tears. Cause Cami, I think you're right. You're gonna be okay." As she wipes off my mascara, Cami mutters something about role reversal that sends me to the floor with laughter, tears once again streaming down my cheeks as I struggle to catch my breath. The kettle whistles sharply and about a minute later, Cami joins me on the floor, handing me a mug.